


The Author of the Journals

by knightnliege



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Demons, Diary/Journal, Gen, Gravity Falls Oregon, Gravity Falls Spoilers, Monsters, Pre-Gravity Falls, Pre-Portal Incident (Gravity Falls), Supernatural Elements, The Journals (Gravity Falls), The Nightmare Realm (Gravity Falls)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:42:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25684453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightnliege/pseuds/knightnliege
Summary: Many years ago, Stanford Pines began his work on Journal 3.
Kudos: 2





	The Author of the Journals

An amber light glowed through the rather misty window, sunspots dancing and clotting where little drops of rain remained from the night before. The grass outside seemed to replicate that action, along with the needles that furiously clung to the pine trees. The rain last night had been thickly and large, the patters on the wooden patio outside noisy and nearly troubling. Some spots in the wood, whether it had made up the floor or the walls outside, had grown soft from the repetitive weather pattern in Oregon; threatening rot. Hm, maybe it was time to put on some sort of glaze, or invent some sort of adhesive to prevent it.

Ford had found himself strangely captivated by this blissful sight, almost unable to turn away from it. He held half of his face in his left hand to prop up his head, his left elbow rested against the desktop. His other hand occupied itself on the table in a tapping motion, the drum of six fingers against the wooden desktop clearly audible. Though Stanford’s time in Gravity Falls sometimes got stressful, or terrifying, nevertheless was he able to appreciate moments like these. His loneliness and reclusion in the woods provided him some sort of sanctuary, where he was able to not only take in the anomalies that practically resided right outside his doorstep, but the beautiful woodland sights. 

It was all so strange. He couldn’t believe that it had been six years since he’d been investigating the mysteries and anomalies of Gravity Falls, in that time, he’d felt as if he’d made great progress with his research. He now not only had a great knowledge on the magical atlas of the area, strange creatures, and mysterious objects, but the dark arts as well. His tired, rather weary gaze finally flickered from the window, unfocusing in a rather dizzying way as his eyes settled from the light of the window to the darkened, nearly unlit rest of the room. He narrowed his eyes in a focusing complex towards the center of his desk, as if his eyes were the lens of a camera, his brain being the hands fidgeting with the buttons. Eventually, they finished and properly came into play with his thoughts.

Stanford’s desk was rather cluttered with various supplies, mostly stationary. This included, but was not limited to his usual fountain pen, as well as a well of ink which was half empty; partially from use, and partially because of the one time he had knocked it over with his elbow. Nevertheless, it still contained what was necessary. Along with this was a small vial of ‘invisible ink’, which he had contained from a previous creature encounter in the woods. He didn’t pay it much thought, considering the memory to be rather exhausting, and he didn’t yet have a reason to use the ink. In the moments as of then, He had a quill as well, but that was mostly for aesthetic purposes. He never quite understood how to write with one, but he did enjoy the texture of the feathers. His desk also had a few scattered pieces of parchment, most of them empty besides for scribbles that he didn’t care to maintain or bother to fit into his journals. Speaking of said journals, the only copies that he had filled to the brim resided in the far back of the desktop, which he had managed to carve and build into a small bookshelf.

He’d been meaning to start the next journal, to further repurpose his findings and properly discuss his theory, but the smallest part of his brain seemed to reside in a nearly tentative state, as if the deeper and continuous pilings of his brain seemed to be continuously piling downwards into some sort of impenetrable level of darkness, something that he may never find himself to escape from. But, that was irrational, and it thumbed away at the threads of his knowledge. Surely these breaks in his logic were something to simply undermine, he was better than that. It was time to start anew. 

He leaned back in his seat, scooting himself slowly outwards along the legs of his chair to properly give himself access to the drawers underneath his desk. He moved towards the bottom left, and curled his many fingers around the almost-rusted handle, and pulled the drawer open. Inside rested a bunch of blank, straight paged journals, nearly identical to the first and second journals that had been filled to the brim. He selected one off the top of the tiny stack, and moved to set it down on the table before closing the drawer. Ford opened the drawer above the one he had just closed, taking out a sheet of gold-tinted paper. With these materials, he could begin work on his next journal, a rather exciting task to begin.

He picked up his fountain pen, and began to outline the outside of his right hand, looping around the indentures of each finger and palm. He peeled the paper upwards, removing his handprint as if it were an attachment to a gold leaf. With another reach back into the top drawer, he removed a small bottle of glue, which he used to fasten the little slip of paper to the leather-bound journal underneath. Another flick of his wrist soon led to the number three being scrawled across the top of the golden parchment, the significance of the order of his research prominent. 

He carried on this preset routine, scrawling a few more words onto a follow-up piece of parchment, finding the set of this accomplishing routine almost endearing. It always felt great to complete and start anew, to start fresh. ‘Property of Stanford Pines’ was clearly marked to be the first thing you would notice as you flipped open to the front of the journal. It wasn’t like he would ever be foolish enough to let anyone else take a look inside of his precious book, but it did give the man some sort of satisfaction to see his name printed on the front.

He let out an exhale, closing the front flap of his journal to gaze over his own handiwork. He couldn’t help but crack a slight smile at the look of it all, he was quite proud of himself. He’d retained enough information to start a third of one of these, it looked like he was certainly getting somewhere, it wasn’t like he ever believed that he wouldn’t. Though he didn’t get accepted into the top college of his choice, it really did make his day that he was actually getting somewhere with the degrees that he had taken at his backup school. He was having a good time with his college funds, and with his research topic of choice. A certified genius was what he was forming up to be, though he didn’t like to brag.

But now was time for a new, revised chapter in his research, which was clearly marked by the object in front of him. So without another word or thought, he picked up his pen, flipped open the journal, and began to work.  
\-----

June 18th,

The first two words, fragments of speech. May today’s date ring heartily in mind and in history.

[I]It’s hard to believe it’s been six years since I began researching the strange and wondrous secrets of Gravity Falls, Oregon.

A true thought that had resided in his brain since a few moments before his craftsmanship, of course. It was a strange thought after all, six years.  
In all of his own travels and hardships, while he hadn’t too many of the former, but plenty in the latter, never had he seen so many curiosities and bizarre sights.

Gravity Falls is indeed a geographical oddity.

Yes, of course, but in Ford’s retrospect, that perspective could swing either way between the art of frustration and curiosity. He’d never been able to figure out the one, nearly bleeding question, why? Why exactly was Gravity Falls so strange? Why was this one isolated location in a nearly deserted county of Oregon so packed with the most paranormal, alter-average, and super-usual activities than any other location of his knowledge? This began to draw him back to his point, his theory. There had to be some explanation, some law, some ‘Grand Unified Theory of Weirdness’ that explained the connections of everything in that strange town. He sure had enough grant money to figure this out, and he had the brains and brawn. 

He was sure he was capable.

These continuously rapid thoughts only fueled his looped scribbling and doodling against the parchment of the journal as he continued to write and plan. He had a mission, a continuing mission, and by all means was he going to accomplish it.

My Continuing Mission:  
Investigate the oddities of Gravity Falls.  
Discover the Grand Unified Theory of Weirdness.  
Publish theory and join the ranks of Newtons, Tesla & Einstein in the pantheon of science.

He was success in the making, a prodigy.

He could do this.

**Author's Note:**

> hey! this is just the first chapter in the story, i'm planning on having this be a rather long-winded project, so stay tuned! :)


End file.
